


lost and beyond recall

by Mertiya



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Breathplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Servant, Mostly because Mairon is desperate for it not to be non-con, Somewhere right in between non-con and extremely dubcon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Very rough sex, pre-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Mairon tries to tell his master of his plans for the upcoming battle.  Melkor doesn't really want to listen.  Mairon doesn't have a good time.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, discussion of Maedhros/Fingon
Comments: 15
Kudos: 60





	lost and beyond recall

**Author's Note:**

> please do heed the tags on this one y'all. it is no fun to be mairon right now. title from the lay of leithian, to everyone's shock and astonishment

The cold of the stones beneath him made Mairon’s knees ache, but he ignored it, waiting with bowed head for Melkor to acknowledge him. He could hear the wind shrieking outside and knew that the rain was blowing fiercely. A shame it was likely only a localized weather pattern. There was a great deal he could have done with ill-favored weather.

Melkor was seated in his vast throne, staring out into the middle distance. Mairon waited silently, trying to curb his impatience. There was so much that needed to be done, and none of it could be done without Melkor’s tacit approval. He had rarely moved out of his throne room for the past several years, and although Mairon was, guiltily, enjoying the fact that this meant he got significantly more sleep than normal, it was also causing some difficulties under the current circumstances.

“Lieutenant, why do you disturb me?” Melkor’s voice creaked with disuse. It was like speaking with a statue. Mairon’s heart twisted, but it was an old pain, and he had no time for it right now.

“The sons of Fëanor are gathering their forces, my lord,” he replied. “I wished to ask for your advice on how to combat them.” _But since I know you will not give me any and if you did it would be useless, I will settle for your permission_.

As always, Melkor’s eyes were unfocused. He pressed fingers to his lips as he stared out the window. “Must you bother me with trivialities, Lieutenant?”

“If you would prefer it, my lord, I have taken the liberty of drawing up a battle plan of my own.”

He got a slight smile for that, and his damn heart twisted and jumped again. It was so rare to gain any form of acknowledgment for his efforts anymore that he almost did not want to. False hope—so much worse than despair, he thought, filing this away for future use. But of course, if the false hope ran out, then the despair would be that much greater.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I am sure you have done an excellent job.” And presumably that was to be the extent of their interview. “What do you propose?”

Again, _thump-bang-twist_. Mairon flinched and took a deep breath to center himself. “Shall I show you, my lord?”

“Just words.”

Better than nothing, still. A crumb of comfort. “Yes, my lord.” Mairon sat back on his knees, looking up, to find that Melkor was gesturing for him to approach.

“Sit,” Melkor murmured, patting his hands on his thighs, and Mairon felt nausea and eagerness rise entwined in his gut. 

“My lord—”

The corner of Melkor’s lips twitched. “ _Master_ ,” he corrected gently, and Mairon’s stomach twisted further, but he obeyed.

“Master, I am here as your Lieutenant, not your lover.”

“Dost thou suggest there is a difference? Or wilt thou refuse to obey me?”

Mairon closed his eyes. “No, Master, as ever, I am your most faithful servant,” he heard himself saying. He rose to his feet and dusted off his robes, then crossed the room and lowered himself into Melkor’s lap. 

“Well done,” Melkor murmured, but his cracked voice was cold as ice, and the lips that traced Mairon’s neck were cold as well.

“The Elves plan to entrap us,” Mairon told him, trying to keep his voice steady as Melkor ran the tips of his long fingers up Mairon’s chest and then encircled Mairon’s neck with one large hand. “One force led by Fingon, and one force led by M-Maedhros—” The name burned his tongue to utter, and Melkor chose that moment to cross his other arm in front of Mairon’s chest and pull him backwards, trapping him neatly and inescapably slotted against his master’s chest and thighs. Melkor was hard, and Mairon shivered, closing his eyes, trying to pretend that this was normal, that it was freely given, that he wanted it. Then Melkor’s hand constricted, cutting off his air, cutting off his _words_ , and Mairon’s throat spasmed, his heartbeat speeding up wildly, his limbs trembling as he tried to force himself not to struggle.

“Shhhh,” Melkor murmured in his ear. “Shhhh, Lieutenant.” 

By rights, a Maia should not, strictly speaking, need air, but Mairon’s _hröa_ strongly disagreed with the assessment, and as Melkor held him in place for a hundred heartbeats, then another hundred, his lungs began to burn and heave, and darkness began to threaten at the edge of his vision. He could not beg; he _would_ not struggle, and there was no other possible escape.

Just as he was certain he was about to pass out, Melkor’s hand relaxed, and he sobbed in a long, desperate, glorious breath. “I—I can’t tell you—if you won’t let me, master,” he rasped through a painful throat.

“Oh, you’ll tell me,” Melkor responded, his voice still cold and far away, but darkly amused. The hand across Mairon’s chest reached down to cup at his thigh, then lift him. “Breeches down, Lieutenant.”

Pain pulsed through Mairon’s throat as he struggled to comply, but the pain was not confined to there for some reason; it spread down to his belly and up to his eyes, which felt hot, as if they might burst into flame at any second. He did not try to protest again, but only mutely tugged down his nether clothing. Behind him, he heard another rustle of cloth and knew that Melkor was loosening his own.

He did not expect to receive much in the way of preparation. It was not disappointing, exactly—pain of this sort Mairon had no trouble with and even, often, enjoyed—but the other pain, the stranger pain, hovered still at his eyes and his throat and some treacherous little thought whispered, _but he could have asked_. Mairon shoved it down. He was here for his lord’s will and desires, not his own.

His body whimpered slightly as Melkor lifted him, spread him, and brought him down, not gently, onto Melkor’s erection. Tears sprang to his body’s eyes in reaction, and the pain in them burned hot and released a little. Melkor grunted softly in his ear, and Mairon’s body sobbed again as he thrust and hot-white-blinding pain stabbed through him, forcing his own unwilling cock to harden.

“Report, Lieutenant,” whispered Melkor in his ear. “And do not spill unless I give you leave.”

“Y-Yes— _ah_ —” Mairon’s cock twitched, and he moaned. It had been so long, and his body was desperate for any physical release already. He shut his eyes and forced his will upon it, which hurt in a not-so-pleasant, dull, bruise-like kind of way. “Master. Two—two forces to entrap us and drive us back. Th-They are strong, the Elves, and w-we must be cautious.”

Melkor’s hand caressed his thigh, then slipped back up to his throat and once again Mairon’s heart hammered wildly in his chest as his master’s hand constricted. He was caught, pinned, _impaled_ , with nowhere to run and no way to struggle.

“I see thy fear, Lieutenant,” whispered Melkor’s cold voice in his ear. “Thou cannot hide from me. Art thou so disloyal?” Frantically, Mairon shook his head as Melkor’s thrusts grew even more punishing and that dizzy darkness threatened in at the edges of his vision again. “Speak, then.” The hand released, and Mairon gasped and sobbed and nearly came, the heat in his belly threatening to overwhelm him.

“Master,” he got out hoarsely. “No—I fear only—only disappointing you.” _Liar_. His own words mocked him. That was not what he feared, but it was a lie with a grain of truth, because it was not Melkor he feared either.

“As thou should.” He lifted Mairon up so that for an instant he was held weightless, skewered on Melkor’s cock, legs dangling, and then forced him to his knees on the ground, his face pressed into the cold stone of the throne.

Mairon cried out, rough and pained, as Melkor forced himself in deeper still, one hand on the back of Mairon’s head to hold him down. “Tell me thy plan, Lieutenant.” Though Melkor grunted as he fucked him, his voice sounded entirely unaffected. Mairon clenched his fists and spoke, his voice ragged and punctuated by gasps and breaths as his body was shaken by Melkor’s thrusts. 

“The Men will betray Maedhros. I hold—I hold their loyalty.”

Melkor laughed harshly. “ _That_ is thy plan? Disloyalty? Treachery? They will weather it. _Maedhros_ will weather it. Thou failed to break him once.”

“ _I know!_ ” He sobbed. He wanted to come. He wanted none of this to be happening— _no_. He did not _want_ anything for himself. He wanted what his master wanted. He was a tool, who had failed his master again and again, who had never been able to do anything right since his master’s return. “But that is _not_ the plan, my l—master. It is—it is only a necessary component.”

“I grow impatient. Tell me, then.”

_You would know already if you had let me speak!_

Melkor’s hand grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his forehead into the throne, and Mairon cried out again at the pain of it. “I hear thy _thoughts_ , Lieutenant,” Melkor snarled.

“Gothmog—” Mairon gasped, somehow forcing the words through a constricted and painful throat. “Gothmog, I will send him after—after Fingon. And because of treachery Maedhros will arrive—too late.” He hissed in pain as Melkor yanked his thighs back hard and stilled inside him with a rush of warmth.

“All the torments of Angband could not break him, but thou believe that this will?” Mairon whined softly as Melkor slipped out of him and flipped him over, pinning him back against the throne. “Bring thyself off, Lieutenant,” Melkor said, in cold, blank tones. Exhaustedly, Mairon put his hand on his own hard cock and brought himself to his own completion with a few quick motions, mewling and shuddering his way through the climax, untouched and alone.

“It will break him,” he whispered as he collapsed to the ground. “Torture is meaningless when one is loved, and all other joys become as naught when that love is lost.”

He was crying now, he realized, his damn body leaking tears that he could not stop. His back and belly throbbed, his thighs sticky with his master’s seed, his throat _ached_ —but his eyes did not hurt anymore. They were only wet.

“Hm.” Melkor stood, looking barely perturbed, and fastened his own clothing about himself once more. “Not such a bad plan after all, Lieutenant. Thank you for the report. You may go now.”

“Yes, Master.” Mairon bowed his head and crept away, shaking. _There_ , he thought dizzily. _He thinks you have done well_.

But he could not force the tears to stop.


End file.
